


Words Come Later

by elyssblair



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Character Death Fix, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyssblair/pseuds/elyssblair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He woke up with no memory of his name or his past, a body that kept surprising him with its abilities and a temper that he couldn’t quite control. He would take the universe apart, if necessary, to find the answer of his identity. So kidnapping one gruff, irritable doctor didn’t make him pause at all.<br/>(A fix-it for Pike, post Into Darkness.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to radezki_nvrsk for the incredibly lovely art, please check it out here
> 
> written for Fix It Story

The slap of scurrying feet and the quick cadence of panicked voices pretending to be calm were the first things he heard while he floated in the nether-world between wake and sleep.

"No, no, no. Wipe the  _Harrison_  file.  Transfer the blind trial files to Mars lab."

"Rooms two, four and seven are ready for transport. Six and nine have been terminated."

"How long do we have? How far has Starfleet gotten in decrypting Marcus's files?"

Forcing his eyes open, he looked around the room. White walls, floor, ceiling. Stainless steel fixtures and gleaming equipment. The antiseptic smell and clinical sterile blandness of sick bay.

He frowned. His body told him he was planet-side.  A hospital or an infirmary, then. Experimentally, he flexed his fingers and toes, stretching one muscle at a time in anticipation of feeling whatever ailment had brought him here. But there was nothing. In fact, he felt amazing. Alert and energetic and ready to move.

None of the normal aches and pains of age that something told him he should be experiencing. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side and hopped down lightly. Well, whatever had landed him in a biobed, he was pretty sure he was over it. He tapped the data biofunction monitor and froze.

Instead of name, there was only a number. Patient 19.

That's when he realized something was very wrong. He knew how to use the monitor. He knew what it felt like to be on planet versus out among the stars on a ship.

But he had no idea what his name was.

No idea who he was. Why he was here. Where to go, even if he could convince the distracted sounding staff outside his room to let him go home.

And that was something else he knew was wrong. He shouldn't be able to hear the voices so clearly through a closed door.

Punching through the commands on the monitor, the screen demanded an identification code to let him see more than his current vital statistics.

Frustrated, he snarled and stomped into the small bathroom. Leaning against the sink, he stared at the mirror in complete shock. He had no memories of what he should look like, but the face staring back at him wasn't what he expected. The skin was smooth, with only the faintest suggestion of lines beginning to feather around his eyes. His hair was thick, glossy brown without even a hint of silver.

His reflection looked young, thirty at most. But his mind balked, insisted he had more mileage, more life behind those eyes than the youthful image could possibly have endured. Even if he couldn't remember any of it.

Stripping off the hospital gown, the fit body he found underneath was less of a surprise. And yet, it too, lacked the ravages of age that he would have expected. Something was wrong and he needed answers. Chief among them was his name, followed closely by what the hell he was doing here. A quick rummage through drawers and cupboards uncovered a set of dark scrubs a little too small for him, but he'd take what he could get.

The organized chaos outside his room was still in full swing when he opened the door. Equipment was being pushed this way and that, boxed up or taken apart or wiped clean and shoved to the side. Questions and orders and frightened reassurances shouted over each other in a cacophony of meaningless noise. At the far end of the hall, a patient was being moved by a team in scrubs, while two men in more militaristic uniforms flanked them, phasers at the ready.

"What are you doing up?"

He turned to find a pretty red-head in scrubs glaring at him with her fists on her hips.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

"What's going on here?"

She bit her lips, eyes darting cagily around the hall.

"We're in the process of… relocating this facility. Nothing for you to worry about. Now, you really need to get back in bed. I can give you something to help you rest through the noise."

"Who am I?" he demanded, knowing, without understanding how he knew, that if she gave him a sedative, it would be a long, long time before he got any answers.

Her eyes went wide and her shoulders eased slightly. It was disturbing the way her insincere smile suddenly turned real with relief.

"You don't remember? Anything?"

He realized too late, he'd given away a tactical advantage with the admission. Others were starting to notice their little conversation and he was running out of time.

"What's my name?" he demanded, taking a threatening step forward.

"It will be better if you rest." Her eyes shifted away from him, her body language tensing with the lie. "Let the memories come back naturally."

She made a small movement, tucking slim fingers into her pocket. The world slowed around him and he watched her hand reappear, hypo-spray in its grip arcing toward his neck.

He reacted without thought, arm coming up to counter with a sharp powerful blow against her wrist. There was a loud crack and she cried out in pain, the hypo skittering across the floor several feet away. He was already moving again, shoving her away in case she had another weapon.

She flew across the wide hall, landing hard against the wall before slumping, unconscious, to the ground.

Looking at his hands, he started to shake. The same instinct that said he should ache, that his hair should be threaded with gray and his face lined with experience, told him his hands should not have that kind of power.

Then shouts echoed from both ends of the hall. The guards who'd been accompanying the patient turned, and he knew he was out of time. Dodging phaser fire, he pushed through bodies trying to flee the mayhem and ducked through the nearest exit at a dead run.

The speed he managed, left the men behind him in the dust. One more thing he didn't think he should be capable of and, yet, was very glad he could.

#

He followed his senses through the corridors, trying to move as far away from the sounds of people as possible. When he caught the scent of old grease and the oily smell of hydraulic fluid, he shifted his path until he found himself in a garage.

He didn't know his own name, but he knew the difference between the various ground cars, air vehicles and interplanetary shuttles with a single glance.

The guards had called for backup and he knew his time was limited before they caught up with him so he climbed into the nearest shuttle. With no idea, yet where to go or what to do, he figured the vehicle that got him the farthest away the fastest was his best option.

Once inside, he knew it was a military vehicle. An older one, perhaps, but he felt at home when he settled into the pilot's seat. His mind automatically turned over the steps he'd need to take to override the security protocols, and he laid his hand on the bio-lock out of habit.

"Welcome, Captain. Would you like to enter coordinates now, or would you prefer manual controls?"

The lilting, feminine voice of the ships computer both startled and soothed him.  That his palm print had given him control of the shuttle was one more mystery, and yet, he felt as if he belonged right where was. At the helm of a ship, ready to explore the unknown.

"Manual, for now."

He went through pre-flight check by rote, trying to not to think too hard about it. He was nearly through when the door beside the shuttle burst open and half a dozen guards poured in, phasers ready.

"Computer, open bay doors," he spoke calmly to the computer, doing his best to ignore the security personnel outside the shuttle.

"Opening doors, Captain."

A thin line of daylight cracked between the metal, growing at a glacial pace while he started the engines and readied the shuttle.

The guards shouted commands but he didn't bother to pay attention. One of them moved over toward the main terminal of the garage, however, and it was only a matter of time before they overrode the hatch controls.

He squinted at the gap showing between the heavy metal doors and estimated how much room he'd need. "Computer, are the doors at 40% yet?"

"Door opening currently at 39.45%, Captain."

"Close enough," he muttered, engaged the thrusters. The shuttle jerked, darting forward and escaping out of a gap barely wider than the vehicle.

He was sure it was only his imagination that he could hear the paint scraping off the roof.

"Computer, close bay doors and engage emergency lock-down."

The computer was silent for several seconds. "Doors closing, Captain. Emergency lock-down in effect for fifteen minutes."

Huh, he hadn't been sure that would work. Whatever mojo his hand unlocked in the shuttle, though, it was apparently pretty powerful. Fifteen minutes wasn't much time but it was enough for him to escape earth's atmosphere and try to hide among the debris of the solar system until he figured out what the hell he was doing.

Once sure it would take them awhile to pick him out from all the other centuries of debris he'd hidden within, he settled back in the pilot's seat, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. It took a few minutes to really relax and still all the questions pushing forward and demanding answers.

Slowly though, the conversations he'd heard in the facility came back to him. Each distinctive, as if he'd heard each word spoken clearly instead of all jumbled together in a discordant clamor of voices. He flipped through everything he remembered, every word spoken. The knowledge that he shouldn't be capable of it was shoved to the side as things began to come together clearly.

There were two bases within the solar system that they'd been scrambling to get to. He pointed the shuttled toward Mars and let himself be seen. When he was minutes from landing, he flicked through the computer system and shut down everything that would allow him to be tracked. Then turned the shuttle around and headed for the Venus colony.

That is where they'd been sending patients and information. That is where he would have ended up. If, that is, he wasn't one of the ones who'd been scheduled to be  _terminated_.

That's where he'd find his answers.

#

He walked through the halls of the covert clinic with a careful swagger and cool confidence of someone who belonged there. The scrubs and the stolen security badge gave him enough credibility that nobody looked closer or asked any uncomfortable questions.

If things did get difficult, however, the phaser he'd found onboard the shuttle was tucked in his boot. Out of sight but within reach.

Even though he'd waited for third shift to start, hoping most of the staff would be done for the day, the first two floors were filled with patients and personal and too much activity to give him the cover or time he needed to access one of the computer terminals.

At least, the third floor was quiet, filled with nothing but empty exam rooms. Unfortunately, none of the computer terminal gave him the access he needed to the classified files. He was about to abandoned it for the fourth floor when the sounds of a security patrol had him ducking into a supply closet, leaving the door unlatched to peer out.

"Hurry up, Johansen. HQ has us on high alert. If we don't make a rotation every fifteen minutes, we'll be guarding the Siberian storage facility."

"C'mon. The last report had him heading for Mars. Why would he come all the way out here?"

"Who knows? They won't even tell us who  _he_  is, what he's looking for or why he's so dangerous. But they haven't spotted him, yet, near Mars facility. Until they've got him, we need to keep moving."

They passed out of range of his hearing and headed down to the second floor. He waited in the closet, timing their rotation at thirteen minutes before they moved through and back down again.

Then he scrambled up to the fourth floor, knowing approximately how much time he had before he needed to find another hiding place.

Locked office door after locked office door lined the halls and he had no doubt he could find the answers, if he could just get into one of them. He wasted nearly half of his thirteen minutes trying to disable the lock without setting off any alarms. He had no doubt he could do it, if he had more time, but right now, staying out of the hands of whoever had been holding him was just as important as finding out who he was.

Instead of banging his head against the impenetrable wall of the lock, he started moving through the rest of the floor, looking for an easier access point. Or a hiding spot, in case he got trapped by the patrol, again.

Then a soft, exasperated sigh carried down the hall and his body went tight and still, his mind and muscles on full alert. Someone was in one of those offices, with the door open enough for him to hear movement and a man's voice muttering to himself while he crept down the hall.

The door was cracked about three inches and he nudged it silently until he had just enough space to slip through.

A tall, dark haired man in a lab coat had his back to the door and didn't seem to notice he was no longer alone. Leaning over the front of the desk, he continued to berate the terminal in front of him.

"Come on, you stubborn son-of-a-Gorn. I have places I'd rather be… aha!" The computer beep and he gave a triumphant, if muffled, shout before pulling out the data cube and dropping it in his pocket.

The doctor turned around and stopped abruptly, eyes comically wide. He stared for several seconds, gaze running over him confusion before turning to disbelief.

"Pike?"

The name froze him in his tracks for a moment. Something familiar and dark resonated through him. Something primitive and unshakable.

"You know who I am?" he demanded, stepping forward and grabbing the doctor's arm in an unforgiving grip.

The man frowned at him, eyes sparking with ill-temper. "'Course I know who you are, you're—"

He heard the faint sound of the stairwell door opening at same moment his internal countdown told him time was up and he slammed his hand over the doctor's mouth. Whoever he was, it would have to wait until they weren't at risk of being discovered.

Once sure the doctor got the message to be silent, he let go and reached down to grab phaser out of his boot. "We have to leave. Now."

Pressing the phaser into the doctor's side, steering them both towards the door. He hadn't been able to get into the computers but maybe he had something better. Someone who knew him. Someone who knew what they'd done to him. And maybe, someone he could use as a bargaining chip to get his life back.

"Move, now, before they get this far," he snarled when the doctor hesitated on the threshold, then jabbed the phaser for emphasis.

"My bag," he said, pointing to the black medical bag on the floor.

"Grab it and let's go. Don't even think about opening it or I'll stun you and drag your ass."

Once in the hall, time was running out, but he didn't want to leave behind any suspicion that he'd been there.

"Close and lock the door."

As soon as the office was secured, he pushed the doctor toward the other end of the hall, and hoped like hell he could get them back to the shuttle without anyone discovering them.

#

Leonard kept glancing back at the guy manhandling him though little used maintenance corridors, going deep into the bowels under the building, and moving quickly away from the center of activity. Despite the progressively uneven and ill-maintained terrain, he couldn't help himself.

There was no doubt he looked like Christopher Pike.

A Christopher Pike who'd stumbled into the Fountain of Youth and shed twenty years. Nothing like the captain who'd risked his life by transporting onto the Narada. And he sure as hell looked a lot better than the dead Admiral Spock and Kirk had mourned after the attack on Starfleet Headquarters.

Even knowing Pike's body, along with two others killed in Khan's initial strike, had disappeared from the conference room without a trace, Leonard had certainly never expected to see him alive and moving with the spryness of a twenty-five year old.

Once he'd brought Kirk back to life and ensured that he'd stay in that condition, Leonard had been pulled into a meeting with enough high level brass to blind him. Like everyone else on the ship, he'd been told in no uncertain terms  everything that had transpired with Marcus, Khan and Section 31 was classified at the highest level. They had no idea how deep or high it ran, and, until they could root it out, the entire mess was hush-hush. Though how they intended to hush up a Dreadnought-class ship crash landing in the middle of the city, he had no idea.

'Course, the paranoid bastards wouldn't accept a gentleman's word, so he'd had to sign a half-dozen non-disclosure statement. Then they'd told him about the missing bodies and the small amount of Marcus's research they'd uncovered so far. Apparently, Leonard hadn't been the only one to figure out Khan's blood could be used for miraculous healing. Pike and several other injured high ranking Starfleet officers had been unknowing guinea pigs to Marcus's experiments.

Two of the missing bodies from Khan's attack on headquarters had been discovered in a crematorium, seconds from being destroyed. It had been presumed Pike had already been cremated in an attempt by Marcus to cover up his illicit research.

Leonard McCoy was the closest thing they had to an expert on Augments' blood, DNA and physiology, so they had recruited him to comb through the files they'd managed to recover from Marcus's computer before a fail-safe started destroying everything. Unfortunately, the only information was that twenty percent of the test subjects exhibited the same kind of aggression as the original Augments displayed. They had begun testing techniques to cure, or at least, mitigate the worst of the side-effects. The rest of the file had been turned into gibberish by the scrubbing program.

Leonard had also found mention of the Venusian facility. The brass, however, did not want to move on any outposts until they could be sure no one would escape their sweep. But Leonard couldn't wait. He'd put that stuff in Jim. So far, his best friend had been awake and under observation for nearly a week and showed no signs of negative side-effects, but he had to be sure. He needed every bit of research and data he could get his hands on in order to make sure Jim didn't end up a raving lunatic.

At least, not any more than he already was.

The tunnel they'd descended into rose upward again, disgorging them into an abandoned looking garage. A single, short-range shuttle sat lonely in the center of the gloom. He didn't need the shove from Pike to know it was their destination.

Once inside, with the door shut and sealed, Leonard took a deep breath, hoping to find a way to reason with his old commanding officer.

Before he said a word, however, a strong hand wrapped around his throat, pushing him up on his tiptoes and hard against the metal bulkhead behind him.

"What did you do to me?" Pike demanded with a snarl. Rage and fear glowed in dark eyes, and Leonard realized he may recognize the face, but he did not know this man.

Red shimmered around the edge of his vision and panic gnawed a painful hole in his gut. He tried to shake his head, but that only made the fingers press even harder into the bruises already forming on his throat.

#

"Not me," the doctor croaked after wiggling slightly in his grip. "Here to help."

"Yeah, right. You were surprised to see me." His free hand dipped into the man's lab coat pocket and pulled out the data cube. "What's this?"

"Research. Knowledge. Not mine. Of men who did this."

The man's words were scratched and breathless, face darkening quickly, so he loosened his grip a fraction to make sure the doctor stayed conscious.

"Who. Am. I?"

"Pike," the doctor grunted, repeating the name he said in the office. "Christopher Pike. Starfleet Admiral Christopher Pike."

Warm relief wrapped around him at the familiarity. But he didn't have time to dwell on it. He needed more answers if he was going to stay ahead of whoever had had him tucked away in that secret hospital room.

"Who are you?"

"Dr. Leonard McCoy."

Again, something like a bell went off in his head. The name was real, something he recognized, but it didn't connect him to any other knowledge or names and memories. He knew the name, just like he knew McCoy had told him the truth about his own name.

Christopher Pike. He was Christopher Pike.

Chris eased his grip a little more and McCoy settled on his feet, gulping in a lungful of air.

"If not you, who did this? Who's responsible?"

"Admiral Marcus."

Another bell, but nothing with it.

"Do you remember anything?" McCoy asked.

Chris's hand tightened infinitesimally, wariness and suspicion creeping back in. But, for the moment, McCoy and a data cube were all he had.

"No. The names are familiar. Like I read them somewhere. No memories. No images. Just names."

"Okay," McCoy huffed a deep breath. Then spun a wild story about Augments and Marcus resurrecting Khan from deep freeze. Of using his blood to experiment on unsuspecting Starfleet personal and McCoy's attempts to help Starfleet unravel it all.

"So, what, I'm some kind of experiment? Some kind of attempt to build another super-soldier like this Khan."

"It's more than that. Much more. You're dead, Chris."

He stared hard and long at McCoy, suspicion and anger threatening to tighten his fingers once again. He felt pretty good for a dead guy.

Except…

There was a memory, fleeting and barely a whisper. A maelstrom of anger, confusion, loneliness, fear and a cool, logical mind soothing him into peace and darkness.

"Or, at least, you were three weeks ago, according to Spock."

Another name, another tick of recognition. It was almost more frustrating than remembering nothing at all.

"Maybe this Spock got it wrong."

McCoy actually chuckled. "I'd love to hear you say that to the hobgoblin's face. No. Spock doesn't make mistakes. He's a Vulcan, a touch-telepath and he was with you during the attack. He felt you die."

Then McCoy explained about the attack, the slaughter of many good men and women and the other bodies that disappeared.

"So, why am I alive?"

"Marcus told Kirk that your death was on him. My guess, he felt responsible for what happened to you and had his team use you as a lab rat. Again. Two for one. He eased his conscience and got to see if he could play God by bringing you back from the dead." McCoy's smile twisted into something darker and self-disparaging. "Just like I did."

"What are you talking about?"

"My captain technically died saving our ship and our crew. I used Khan's blood to resurrect him, as well."

"Does he remember things from before you messed with him?"

"Yes. But Marcus didn't have anyone as good as me working on his project. What's on that data cube might help me figure out what they did to you. Maybe I can use it to help you."

He wanted to believe. He wanted to trust, but anger and paranoia hammered at him. "If you weren't part of this, part of what this Marcus did, what were you doing in that office? How did you get past security and get this?"

"I stole it. The brass investigating Section 31 gave me his corrupted files. There wasn't enough to help me make heads or tails out of his project." McCoy smirked. "But I did get his security passwords."

Chris didn't know what to believe. But he knew, ultimately, he'd need a doctor. Whatever knowledge was still buried in his instincts, he was pretty sure any familiarity he had with the practice of medicine was passing at best.

He didn't have to trust McCoy to use him.

Letting go, he stepped back and pocketed the cube, ignoring the way McCoy rubbed at his neck.

"Sit down and buckle in."

"Where are we going?"

Pike ignored the question, turning his back on the doctor and settling the pilot's seat.

#

Chris angled the shuttle away from Venus and headed for Luna. It would be easier to get lost among the various colonies and bases of the moon, and they'd be more likely to find whatever they might need without too much notice.

For the first few minutes, McCoy stayed silent, staring out the view screen with a tight-lipped look of dread. His hands gripped the armrests with white-knuckled intensity and his face was shading from pale into a greenish tinge that made Chris eye him with renewed suspicion. What kind of Starfleet officer was afraid of flying?

Once he had the shuttle pointed toward the moon, Chris engaged the autopilot and relaxed, letting himself really look at the doctor he'd abducted. He was tall, well-built and handsome. From their brief conversation, it was obvious he was smart and quick, if a little gruff and sarcastic. Right now, though, McCoy was attempting to look anywhere but at the view screen's expansive panorama of star-specked space. Breathing heavily through his nose, the doctor obviously fought to remain calm.

Now seemed like the perfect time to get more answers.

"Who is Christopher Pike?"

McCoy blinked and stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "I told you, you're Chris Pike."

"Not what I meant. I need a few more details than name and rank."

McCoy huffed and tilted his head, with a pinched frown. "I didn't know you that well. I served under you for about five minutes before you risked your life and transported over to Nero's ship in order to protect the Enterprise. Most of the time I worked on you in sick bay after… after, you were unconscious."

He leaned forward and tapped on the terminal in front of him.

"You were… are… a decorated officer, one selected to command the Federation's flagship. You were well-respected by your crew as well as the students you worked with at the Academy. You are being mourned by a great many people."

The record McCoy had brought up was the obituary for Admiral Christopher Pike. A long list of commendations and medals led the story, followed by quotes from a wide variety of people about his life. And his death.

It should have meant something, that so many people cared. That he had accomplished so much. But it was just words on a screen. None of it meant anything. They could have been talking about a fictional character for all he felt.

"I know you're a stubborn cuss who refused to give up despite an initial, bleak prognosis," McCoy continued. "You fought your way back until you were walking on your own two feet."

"Except, of course, that was apparently not me. That was some psychopath's blood."

"Maybe. We don't know when Marcus started experimenting on you or how effective his treatments were. You're attitude and stubborn determination in the beginning was what got you through the worst of it."

Chris shrugged, and looked through the list of achievements again.

"How old am I?" It was a question that had itched in the back of his brain since he'd woken up, but other things had seemed more important than finding his birthday.

The doctor hesitated, eyes glancing over him with confusion and uncertainty.

"According to Starfleet records, you're forty-four years old."

Chris nodded. That felt a hell of a lot more right than the image of a twenty-five year old that startled him every time he saw his own reflection.

"Don't suppose I've always looked young for my age, huh?"

McCoy just shook his head and tapped something on the screen to bring up the photo of Admiral Pike accompanying the article.

There was the man he'd expected to see in the mirror when he first woke up. Face lined with the experience, tragedy and triumphed described in the article. His body leaning slightly on the cane at his side, slumping a little with the burden of injury and discomfort.

A twinge of phantom pain trickled through his leg. A quick, hot flash of something half-remembered. The bells of his memory rang like midnight when he looked at himself.

Whether or not he should trust McCoy remained to be seen, but he had no doubt the doctor was telling him the truth about one thing.

He was definitely Christopher Pike.

"Is it the blood serum  that…" he trailed off, unable to figure out what to call it. Instead, he just waved his hand in front of his face to indicate the radical change in his appearance.

"I don't know. Most likely. But I didn't have time to read through the records back at the clinic. Just glanced at them to make sure they were the right ones before the security patrol came back through and caught me. What I did for Kirk didn't have this kind of side effect, though."

He shrugged. "Once I have a chance to study the research, I'll have a better handle on it…"

The autopilot beeped an alert and Chris turned back to take control.

Whatever identification the shuttle was broadcasting, it was getting him through the red tape of landings and takeoffs. He didn't know, now, if it was Section 31's codes or his own identity, scanned into the shuttle by his initial handprint, that opened doors so easily for him. Either way, though, he knew it meant the people who hadn't wanted him to leave, would be able to follow the trail easily. He couldn't afford to stay in one place too long.

But he needed answers. As much as he was beginning to want to trust McCoy, he didn't dare. And the shuttle belonged to the enemy. He couldn't trust the files he'd read were untainted by Section 31's agenda.

He needed to verify the information for himself.

Chris tapped a request into the nav computer and it spit out a rarely used landing area with its own garage on the outskirts of Armstrong City. The perfect place to dump the shuttle while he searched for answers.

#

Leonard walked into the half-filled cafe with Pike close by his side. Not the he had much choice in the matter. The phaser was tucked safely out of sight but Pike was still steering Leonard wherever he wanted him to go. The man's newly enhanced strength and speed made any attempt to subvert his will futile.

Not that Leonard hadn't tried arguing that he'd be perfectly happy to stay behind and wait in the shuttle. If Pike needed confirmation of everything he'd said, he could go wandering through the crowded, germ-filled streets of Armstrong City alone. His subtle attempt to stay behind and figure out a way to get a message to Kirk had fallen flat, however.

He had won the argument about bringing his medical bag, though. He was a doctor, damn it. If there was a medical emergency he was going to help. And he'd been part of enough away missions with Jim to never, ever want to get caught without proper medical supplies again.

Now, Pike nudged him past college students and business men toward a couple of empty public terminals in the back. He grabbed the med-bag from Leonard's hands before pushing him, gently but firmly, into a seat in the corner. Then Pike plopped the bag down between Leonard and the terminal.

"Don't touch anything. And keep your hands where I can see them."

Leonard rolled his eyes and huffed, but raised his hands up, half-turned away from the terminal and kicked out his legs to get more comfortable. When Pike took the seat next to him, he let his hands drop, one on top the med bag next to him and one over the back of his chair. He deliberately took up as much space as possible, crowding Pike as much as he could.

Childish, maybe. But he was really tired of being manhandled and treated like an inconvenience. Pike was the one who'd abducted him.

While Pike tapped away, bringing up news files of the past few weeks, Leonard stared around the cafe and drooled a little at the sharp pungent smell of fresh,  _real_  coffee. He wondered if he could convince Pike to buy him a cup.

"There's nothing about Harrison being an Augment," Pike hissed, bringing Leonard's attention back to him. "Nothing about him being Khan. And it just says Kirk was injured attempting to stop him from destroying the Enterprise and Starfleet."

Leonard narrowed his eyes. It was like herding cats, with these Starfleet officers. Brilliant one minute, completely obtuse the next.

"You're smarter than that, Pike. Read between the lines. Are they giving any background info on Harrison. Where he was born? His age? Where he went to school? All the usual nosy stuff that put in for 'human interest' that actually contributes nothing to the facts of the story? Did they mention what, exactly, Kirk's injury was or how he got it?"

Pike's lips curled and he returned Leonard's dark look, but he didn't say a word. Just turned to the terminal and resumed ignoring Leonard's presence.

Leonard tipped his head back, raising his eyes to the ceiling and sighing loudly.

When his gaze drifted down, the screen saver on the terminal was advertising Sub-SpaceNet.

He never used social media. Being social in person was exhausting enough. The whole concept of doing it for fun was completely anathema to Leonard. Still, Kirk used it all the time.

A glance at Pike showed he was morbidly absorbed in reading more details about his own death. Leonard didn't doubt any sudden movement word send him into berserker mode, however, so he slowly, casually let his hand slip off the back of his bag until it rested on the touch pad. With as few movements as he could possibly manage, he brought up the SSN interface and typed up a quick message on Kirk's page.

He didn't know who might be looking for him, or for Pike, and he didn't want to give anything away on so public a site, so he settled for a simple message.

_Just thinking about that spring break, first year of Academy. Should go back sometime. SOON!_

Jim had talked him into a weekend in the seedier gambling district of Armstrong City. Leonard had complained about the noise and crowds the entire time they'd been there. He still complained about the bout of food poisoning he'd endured from the suspect dives Kirk insisted were part of the ambiance.

His captain would know Leonard would never, ever return there voluntarily. He'd get the message.

"What are you doing?"

Pike was on his feet, looming and McCoy tapped the pad to clear the screen before he shoved the bag out of the way.

"What did you do?" Pike repeated when he saw nothing but the latest screen saver ad for a local casino flashing on the terminal.

"Nothing," Leonard insisted, trying to remain calm. But Pike was snarling now, and the anger burned bright and hot in his eyes. It reminded him of the mindless anger and paranoia Pike had displayed while nearly choking him.

"Liar. Who did you contact?" His hand gripped Leonard's shirt, tugging him forward, his voice rising to a shout. "Are they on their way?"

"Hey, buddy, keep it down or I'll call security," the manager shouted, looking a little afraid, but determined.

Pike snarled at him, then jerked Leonard to his feet, pushing the bag into his hands. "Let's go."

Pike dragged Leonard several streets away at a pace that had him stumbling to keep up with the tight grip on his collar. In a shadowed alley half a dozen twists and turns from the cafe, Pike finally stopped and shoved him hard against the wall.

One hand curled around the base of his throat, the other poked a pressure point in his shoulder that left Leonard breathless with pain.

"Chris, you don't really want to hurt me," he whispered, unable to catch enough breath around the pain.

 Leonard wasn't too sure of his words. Fury made the man's eyes dark pits of unreasoning rage and Leonard thought for sure his minutes were numbered.

But he knew Christopher Pike. He'd seen flashes of his former captain in this paranoid, rage-filled man and he had to try.

"I've told you the truth. I only want to help you. This isn't you. You're a soldier, but you're not mindlessly violent. Let me help you."

The hand on his shoulder eased and the pain receded, but Pike stayed still and tense, pressed up against Leonard. Old instincts battled with new paranoia and they remained locked in place for several long heartbeats.

Eventually, Pike managed to get a hold on the anger, though it didn't seem to fade. He stepped away, grabbed Leonard's arm and pushed him forward. "Let's get back to the shuttle.

#

Chris had banked his anger, for now. But it still bubbled and stewed in the pit of his stomach. He knew he couldn't trust anyone, yet he'd let his guard down. There was something about McCoy. His tone and his demeanor made Chris believe that brusque honesty was real. He'd known better, but he'd gotten too absorbed in reading about his life. Or, more to the point, his death.

Even now, dragging the doctor through crowded city streets, he knew he should cut his losses. He shouldn't, couldn't, trust Leonard McCoy. Yet, Chris still brought him along, still wanted to believe when the doctor said he wanted to help. So he kept his pace to something the McCoy could handle and led them both to the garage and into the elevator.

He stepped out of the lift first, and the frustration pounding in his ears almost drowned out the sounds of voices. Almost.

But the delay was enough for the three uniformed thugs around his shuttle to notice them.

His vision blurred with red. He'd really wanted to believe that listening to McCoy hadn't been a mistake. Had really wanted to believe that the doctor wouldn't betray him like this.

He would not go down without a fight, however.

Before any of the men fumbled their phasers into position, Chris charged. The closest man folded over from the fist to his solar plexus and Chris followed it with a solid hook to his temple. The unconscious man dropped to the ground and Chris was already moving. A roundhouse kick disarmed the second man and he shifted his weight, delivering more two swift, hard strikes. The man slumped, then sprawled, senseless on the concrete. Chris paused, took a couple of quick breaths and steadied himself.

Senses refocused, he realized the third man had gotten behind him and started to twist, already knowing he'd be too late.

The black medical bag swung in front of him, and the phaser shot ricocheted wildly away from him. Then the bag reversed momentum and went flying, hitting the last attacker in the face. He fell backwards, eyes rolling up and his head making an echoing thump when it hit the concrete.

Chris blinked in surprise, but McCoy was already retrieving his bag and holding it up triumphantly.

"And you wanted me to leave it behind." He glanced around at the three unconscious men. "Let's go. There may be more of them."

He turned and headed for the lift, but Chris remained rooted to the spot, uncertain.

He'd been so sure McCoy had walked him into an ambush. Then the doctor had saved his life. Was it another trick?

When McCoy realized he was waiting for the elevator alone, he turned back and shook his head. "Look, even if I did something in the cafe, no way would they'd have beaten us here at the pace you were setting. If I was one of them, if I wanted you dead or in custody, I'd have let that jerk stun your ass."

The doors opened and he stepped inside.

"The casino sector is filled with cheap, cheesy tourist attractions that are a budget version of New Vegas. It's loud, noisy and crowded. A great place to hide in plain sight. Are you coming or not?"

Chris took a deep breath and calmed himself. Pushing away the anger and the paranoia and the frustration that didn't really feel like him, he listened to the quieter instincts. The ones that had proven reliable rather than a distraction.

Then he let his lips twitch up in a resigned half smile and stepped onto the elevator next to McCoy.

The doctor sighed, the sound filled with exasperation when the doors whooshed shut. But the tension slid out of his body and he swayed closer to Chris. By the time the lift hit the ground, they were leaning into each other, relief and new fragile trust tying them together.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Chris headed back to the cheap hotel with the latest round of takeout, trying to predict what McCoy would say about the sugar and chemical-filled over-processed 'old-world style barbecue' he'd found. The doctor bitched about the unhealthy junk food options surrounding them constantly, but it didn't stop him from scarfing down whatever was put in front of him.

Leaving McCoy alone in the room, trusting he'd be there when Chris returned was becoming too easy. He knew he was letting his guard down, but two days spent stuck in a small room with a single bed had enforced a closeness and intimacy that snuck under his defenses.

Chris found himself liking the gruff, ill-tempered doctor. The man never ran out of things to grump about, yet, he also never went anywhere without his bag, in case someone needed his help. He moaned and complained about the food, the weather, the room and the fact that he was trapped in the pollution filled city, yet he was constantly aware of Chris's physical well-being. And he frowned every time he ran his tri-corder over Chris, and bitched about not being able to trust any of the public computers so he could read the Section 31 research. Chris never asked what was going wrong in his body. He didn't want to know.

 Eventually, he'd probably have to give in to McCoy's insistence that they return to Earth and Starfleet medical. While Chris might be coming to trust the doctor, he wasn't quite ready to put his body and his second chance at life in the hands of a government that really didn't want the information of his miraculous resurrection getting out.

Not to mention, he was surprised to find himself reluctant to give up the opportunity to curl up at night around Leonard McCoy. The first night, when they'd fallen into the single, cramped bed, he'd expected to be uncomfortable, wary and unable to relax enough to rest.

Instead, they'd ended up curved comfortably together. Sleeping deeply. And Chris's first thoughts upon waking up spooned around the attractive doctor gave him one more tidbit of missing information. Admirable Christopher Pike was definitely attracted to men.

They were running out of the untraceable burner credit's Chris had discovered in the shuttle, though. McCoy wasn't stealthy, despite Chris's best efforts to keep him out of trouble and it had led to a couple of close calls with the men searching for them. Once the money ran out, he had no idea how he'd protect the doctor.

Chris paused in the hallway a half-dozen steps from their room. When had McCoy's safety become his priority?

The thought pulled him up short. Then another awareness intruded. There were voices, plural, coming from their room. And it didn't sound like a holo-vid.

"You should have said you were shacking up next to the place with the belly dancers, Bones. Would have saved us a day or so tracking you down."

The voice was young and cocky and reminded Chris of something he felt he should never have forgotten. Yet, what that thing might be was completely beyond him.

"Of course, we started with that one club. The one near the city center, remember Bones?" The amusement only seemed to ratchet up a notch at McCoy's grunt of irritation. "Spock was really impressed with their flexibility, weren't you?"

"Indeed." The voice was flat with very little inflection, yet it still managed to convey a world of sarcasm. "Where is Admiral Pike?"

Chris stiffened, the food container crushing slightly in his hand.

"How did you know about Pike?"

The relief he felt at McCoy's genuine surprise was probably disproportionate, but the idea of the doctor betraying him completely was a painful prospect.

"It was a logical deduction—" The flatter voice, Spock, apparently, was cut off by a brasher one.

"His identity code started popping up all over the place for landing and takeoff permissions. Which, weird, when he's supposed to be dead. But, hey, no body so, worth keeping an eye on. It was last recorded at a landing park not far from here. Then I get your message, after you swore you'd never set foot in Armstrong City again. Wasn't hard to put two and two together. What happened to him? And how did you two end up together?"

So McCoy hadn't told whoever was in there about him. But he'd still called his friends. Chris's stomach clenched and he strengthened his resolve.

"It's a long story, Jim. He just went to get some food, he won't have gone far."

"Great," Jim said. "Let's go grab him and head back to Earth."

Like hell anyone was going to grab him and take him anywhere.

The crack of the food container disintegrating in Chris's crushing grip echoed ominously in the hallway and all sound in the hotel room stopped abruptly.

"Fuck."

Chris dropped the remainder of dinner and sprinted for the end of the hall and the balcony beyond the open window.

Behind him the, the hotel room door slammed open and running feet let him know someone was giving chase.

"Jim, wait," McCoy shouted. "You don't understand. Pike isn't—"

Not wanting to hear anymore, not wanting to give into the half-hearted hope that McCoy was still on his side, Chris leapt from the balcony. Landing on the fire escape of the gentleman's club across the alley, he kept going, getting out of sight, and hearing range, as fast as possible.

#

"Jim, wait," Leonard shouted. "You don't understand. Pike isn't the man you know. He doesn't remember anything beyond a few days ago."

"What?"

Jim stopped at the balcony and they watched Pike disappear.

"Marcus knew about Khan's blood. Pike was some kind of experiment. It made him younger, stronger. But it took away his memories and made him… a little less predictable. He's not going to recognize you. He's not going to trust you. Let me go after him. Alone."

"Is he dangerous?" Kirk demanded, eyeing McCoy suspiciously. All the irreverent amusement had disappeared and the Starship captain facade had taken over his posture and expression.

"Not to me," Leonard insisted and flinched when his friend's eyes dropped to the fading bruises on his neck. "Not anymore."

"Bones." Stubbornness set into Jim's jaw but Leonard was not giving up that easily.

"Look, we don't have time. Give me your communicator."

"This is a bad idea," Jim insisted, but his communicator was in his hand.

"Oh, like you've never acted on a bad idea," Leonard muttered and snatched the gadget from him. "One hour. If you haven't heard from me by then, come looking."

He turned his back on the balcony and headed for the stairs, knowing there was no way he'd keep up with Chris. Leonard's best bet was to try to think like him.

When he hit street level, he turned toward the main strip of casinos and clubs. It was always busy, crowded and loud no matter the time of day or night. They'd used the sea of seething, desperate humanity to ditch Section 31 goons a couple of times.

Once he got there, though, he realized knowing Chris would head there didn't mean it would be any easier to find him. He couldn't see beyond the group of scantily clad dancers sashaying in front of him or the off-smelling wino behind him as the crowd created an impenetrable wall blocking his view of everything.

The dancers eventually ducked into a shop, giving him a break to see ahead. Unfortunately, all he saw was a leering thug bearing down on him. Leonard recognized him as one of the Section 31 guards they'd been dodging since the scuffle by the shuttle. The goon grabbed his arm in a painful, bruising grip and, despite his attempts to dig in his heels, Leonard found himself being dragged down a narrow, dark, dead-end alley. He tried to shout, to draw attention to them before the shadows swallowed them from sight of the street, but the second he opened his mouth his head bounced against the wall from a blow he'd never seen coming.

"Where is he?"

Leonard tried to blink the swirling lights out of his eyes, but his head rang like chimes in a windstorm.

"He, who?"

"Don't mess with me. Where's the man you've been hiding with?"

Huh. The guy's eyes shifted from pissed to uncertain for half a second. Interesting. The men they'd sent after Chris had no idea who he was. 

When Leonard remained silent, the thug snarled and slammed him back into the wall again.

"Where is he?"

The voice in the darkness behind the goon took them both by surprise.

"He's right behind you."

A second later the man who'd been pinning him was gone, dragged deeper in the shadows. It took a couple of blinks for Leonard to focus on the mostly one-sided fight in front of him. A second later, Pike dropped the limp body to the ground and Leonard resisted the instinct to check on the unmoving man.

Chris stepped closer, hands pressing into Leonard's shoulders. His eyes wild with a craziness suggesting that, once again, Pike wasn't in complete control.

Leonard took a deep breath and smiled, resting one hand on Chris's waist, trying to show without words that he was okay, unafraid and no threat. Somehow, the simple gesture steadied them both.

"Thanks," he murmured. The word was soft gratitude mixed with all of the other emotions that Leonard had tried to pretend weren't growing in him over the past few days. 

He realized how close he was to giving away too much. The man didn't even know who he was. He hadn't been interested in McCoy that way before, he certainly wouldn't be, once he got his memory back. And Leonard had every intention of making sure Chris got everything back that he'd lost.

He cleared his throat and added, with gruff amusement, "But next time, warn a guy. That kind of surprise isn't good for my heart."

Chris's expression smoothed, calmness returning with a slight twitch of his lips.

Leonard took a deep breath, his fingers tightening a little where they rested on Chris's hip.

#

Chris had been pissed and hurt when he'd jumped from the hotel. He'd known McCoy would follow him to the strip, but it was still the best place to get lost. And he'd known he'd spot the doctor long before McCoy saw him.

Except, when he'd finally caught sight of McCoy, some goon was dragging him into a dark alley. Terror for the doctor had quickly been replaced by righteous fury. He'd only allowed the thug to keep breathing because some small, sane part of him had known McCoy would be pissed with needless murder. Frustratingly, despite feeling hurt and betrayed, McCoy's feelings still mattered to Chris.

Now, here they were, standing close, McCoy's hand warm and grounding on his side. Amusement and relief and unspoken understanding pulsed between them. He could close the distance with a tiny move. Could claim McCoy's lips, claim his body and soul in a second.

When Leonard opened his mouth, Chris was ready to say yes to anything he asked.

"Come back to the hotel with me. Meet Jim and Spock. Let me explain."

Anything but that.

Chris jerked away, a cold spot burning in his chest.

Before he could run again, McCoy grabbed his wrist. He could easily break the hold on his arm, but the pleading eyes wouldn't let him go.

"Look. I get that you don't know who to trust. We've gotten this far together, but there is more wrong with you than I can fix with what's in my medical bag."

McCoy pushed his free hand against Chris's chest. "I know you don't remember, but Spock was your first officer. Your right hand man. And you recruited Jim into Starfleet. Hand-picked him to be your successor on Enterprise. They can help us. Please. Trust me."

"Okay."

The agreement slipped out of his lips without thought. Chris wasn't sure which of them was more surprised by it.

But the slow, relieved smiled made it worth it.

"Let me just let them know we're on our way back, so they don't start searching."

When he tried to connect with Kirk, however, the sound of another communicator chirped from the mouth of the alley. Chris stiffened automatically, moving to put himself in front of McCoy, body primed for a fight. McCoy's grip tightened on his wrist though, holding him back when two men stepped into the alley.

"I thought I told you to wait at the hotel?" McCoy sounded annoyed, but Chris knew him well enough by now to recognize the hint of relief underlying it.

The dark haired man, whose sharp ears and stiff demeanor suggested Vulcan heritage raised an eyebrow but remained silent. Spock, Chris presumed.

Which meant the other man, who ducked his head with a sheepish tilt, must be Jim Kirk. He shrugged and his eyes lifted, sparking with cockiness and amusement. Definitely the brash young captain McCoy had described.

"I don't even listen to orders from  _superior_  officers, Bones… Besides, you know how much I hate sitting still."

His attention shifted from McCoy to Chris, amusement slipping behind a mask that Chris couldn't quite read.

"Sir. It's good to see you alive. Can I offer you a ride home?"

Kirk held out his hand, and the move seemed as much challenge as etiquette.

Chris pinched his lips and stared at the hand long enough to make a point before finally shaking it.

"Sure, why not," he said, then he met Kirk's eyes with dark defiance. "Don't make me regret it."

#

Chris followed while McCoy and Kirk snarked and bantered their way to the busier space port on the more affluent side of the city. In between insults, McCoy shared the highlights of what he'd discovered about Marcus and Section 31 and Spock dropped back to walk beside Chris with silent bemusement.

"Are they always like this?" he finally asked.

"Unfortunately."

The 'ride' Kirk had offered turned out to be a pleasure cruiser three times the size of the shuttle Chris had stolen.

McCoy's eyebrows continued to climb when Kirk gave them a tour of the two state rooms, the kitchenette, a small office space, the bathroom facility and the cockpit.

"Nice ride," McCoy said, heavy sarcasm weighting his words. "Didn't realize that promotion to captain came with that much of a raise."

Kirk rolled his eyes and patted McCoy's shoulder with a familiarity that made a growl threaten in the back of Chris's throat.

"We borrowed it from the Vulcan embassy."

"By borrowed, do you mean that we're going to be arrested for grand larceny when we land?"

"No, Spock's father offered it to us."

Kirk turned his head away to look out the view screen, so McCoy missed the faint blush warming his cheeks. Chris wondered what more there was to that story, but then Kirk turned back to McCoy and gestured toward the work area. "The computer on board is as secure as you're going to get, if you want to start digging into that data you… borrowed."

McCoy glared at Kirk's smirk but headed for the secluded work station. Spock followed him out when McCoy's strident irritation echoed back that he had no idea how to read the Vulcan screen.

Chris hovered at the door, watching Kirk settle into the pilot seat and started the pre-flight checks. The idea of someone else piloting a ship he was on itched like a phantom bug bite.

"Don't just stand their hovering," Kirk said, without looking up from the controls in front of him. "I feel like I'm back at the Academy and you're going to give a me a rundown of my mistakes when I'm done."

"If you make any mistakes, I'm jumping ship," Chris shot back, but dropped into the navigation seat and started a rundown for that side of the helm.

*

Two hours later, Chris and Kirk were kicked back, letting autopilot do the work and playing a holo-game the captain had brought along.

The second McCoy entered the helm, Chris recognized his breathing before he even turned to greet him with a sheepish grin at getting caught enjoying such a juvenile past-time. The smile slipped when he saw of McCoy's expression.

The doctor's face was pale and lined and his eyes darted over Chris as if looking for signs that something was catastrophically wrong.

"Problem, Bones?" Kirk asked quietly, obviously seeing the same worry Chris was.

"Maybe." He swallowed, straightened and his default scowl pinched into place. "The doctors Marcus had working on the blood serum were morons. They  _ineptly_  attempted to compensate for the aggression created by the neurotransmitter disruption. If I'm right, though, what they did is what's causing your amnesia. And, obviously, only mitigated the aggression slightly."

McCoy's lips pinched and he brushed his hand across his mouth. It was obvious there was more to it.

"And?"

"And… and it is probably also killing you."

Silence echoed in the cabin while McCoy's word sank in. Finally, Kirk stood up, serious and intense. "You can fix it, though. Right?"

"I don't know. Like I said," he waved the data cube. "Morons. I can give him the treatment I gave you, but I don't know how it will interact with what they did. It might fix everything. I might make them amnesia permanent. It might ramp up the homicidal tendencies."

He paused, swallowed and met Chris's eyes. "It might kill you faster."

Chris stood up, pushed past Kirk and wrapped one hand around McCoy's wrist. "I trust you."

#

Chris stared out at the view of San Francisco from the hospital room window. He was supposed to be preparing himself for the procedure by getting into the scratchy, uncomfortable hospital gown. All the advances the Federation had made in medicine, it was hard to believe no one had created something less humiliating for patients to wear.

So he ignored the flimsy fabric draped over the biobed and stared out at the city. He knew exactly where he was. Knew what streets he'd need to take to get to the Academy or the Mission District. He could name most of the buildings creating the skyline.

Yet he couldn't remember ever being to the Academy or anywhere else in the city.

McCoy's procedure could fix that. Or it could permanently wipe out any hope he had of ever recovering his past. It could even kill him. Of course, according to all the scans and tests McCoy had done, if he didn't get the treatment, he'd be dead in six months, no matter what.

Despite himself, Chris trusted McCoy. Trusted that if anyone could fix the mess Marcus had made of his life, McCoy could.

So far, McCoy, along with Kirk and Spock had been good to their word. He wasn't a prisoner, or an experiment. He'd been staying with McCoy, free to come and go as he pleased in the two weeks they'd been back on Earth. They'd kept his return from the dead quiet, helped him keep a low profile, while Leonard had worked furiously to find the treatment with the best odds.

Kirk couldn't completely keep him a secret from Starfleet, though. They'd had to inform those in charge of the Section 31 investigation about his existence and the possibility that there were others like him out there. Others whose lives were in danger. And whose paranoia and aggression hadn't been tempered by finding support with people they could trust.

Not that the violence didn't still occasionally get the better of Chris. His first meeting with Admiral Komack had started out rocky. The man had stated that Pike not being dead was a giant pain in the ass. Only Spock's quick interference had kept Chris from landing the punch he'd thrown at the man's face.

To the surprise of everyone though, his actions had gotten a laugh from Komack and a hearty slap on the back.

"Don't let them tell you any different, the old Pike would have tried to hit me for that, too."

Then he'd kicked Spock, McCoy and Kirk out of his office, poured two glasses of whiskey and reminisced about a ship they'd served on together.

No matter how much he tried, however, Chris couldn't stop thinking about what might happen in the aftermath of the treatment. Couldn't stop thinking about McCoy.

The crazy few days on the run had forged a bond between them. One Chris relished. Living with the doctor over the past two weeks only cemented how very much he cared about McCoy. How much he wanted more than just the friendship they'd allowed himself.

If the lingering looks and impulsive touches were anything to go by, Leonard felt the same way.

Neither of them had any idea what the future held for them, however. It had seemed wrong to start something he didn't know if he could finish. Now, though, with only minutes left, he regretted it with his whole heart. He could have had two weeks. Instead he had flashes, moments of intimate looks, lingering touches, deep silences before one or the other would look away, pull away or fill the moment with meaningless words.

"Pike," McCoy's sigh of exasperation made Chris smile. It hadn't taken long for him to realize the sound was the doctor's attempt to cover his fondness for whoever was on the receiving end of it. "Why aren't you dressed. Or undressed, I should say, the attendant will be here any minute to—"

Chris crossed the room in three long, fast strides, hands on Leonard's shoulders in a loose grip. Then he slowed down, moved carefully, giving him every chance to move away before their lips slid together.

It didn't spark like electricity. It warmed and melted like a hearth fire. The kiss was like coming home. Sweet and promising. Leonard's hands slipped up to cup his neck and he tilted his face, deepening the kiss. Inviting Chris in.

He took full advantage of the invitation. His tongue slid through parted lips, tasting, touching, twining them together. He lost himself in the moment, in the need and the promise and the hope.

But time was running out. And the future was unknown. Eventually, they had to step away, step back.

When he calmed his racing breath, he smirked at the way McCoy kept opening his mouth, then closing it as if he couldn't come up with a single thing to say. A speechless Dr. Leonard McCoy was a rare sight and he was surprisingly proud of himself that he'd caused it.

But his amusement seemed to break the spell and Leonard scowled at him. "Don't you laugh. What the hell was that?"

Chris raised an eyebrow. He supposed he should be sorry, but he wasn't. "That? I think that was a kiss. But, my memory isn't what it should be…"

"Funny." The flat delivery and fierce frown, however, were not amused. "Why now? Why not yesterday? Or two weeks ago, when we had time to do something about it."

"I should have. I wanted to. But I didn't think it was fair. Not knowing how I'd feel. After."

"But you think it's fair, now?"

"No. No I was just being selfish. I don't know who I'll be. What I'll remember. If I'll even survive. I wanted you to know how I feel, in this moment. Wanted you to know that I really hope I still feel this way when I wake up."

McCoy opened his mouth, but the attendant bustled in, interrupting their solitude and fussing that Chris needed to get ready  _right now_.

#

Leonard sat on an uncomfortable chair in the sterile hospital room and scrolled through every bit of data he'd collected on Khan's blood while he watched over a sleeping Chris. He'd been through everything multiple times. Double and triple checking every detail. Making sure he hadn't missed anything, making sure there wasn't something else he could have done, could still do, for Chris

A brief knock sounded against the door, but Jim walked in without waiting to be invited. He grabbed the extra chair and dragged over to sprawl like an annoying adolescent right next to Leonard. Not wanting to give Jim the satisfaction of attention, he continued to scroll through his notes without looking up.

"How long 'til he wakes up?"

"We're keeping him in an induced coma for forty-eight hours to see how his brain and body respond to the treatment. After that, it depends on him."

"You going to sit here the entire time?"

Leonard finally looked up, glaring hard at Jim's knowing smirk. "Haven't decided, yet."

He focused back on his PADD, not wanting to deal with anything else but Chris's recovery for the moment.

The silence stretched out, broken only by the hum and beeps and hisses of the medical equipment. Until Jim opened his big mouth again.

"That was some kiss, right before Pike went under.

Leonard nearly dropped his PADD and his glare sharpened into a fierce scowl. "We're you spying on us?"

Jim lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "He's still dangerous. If he was going to flip out and run, it would have been before you started experimenting on him. I don't want to have to break in a new CMO."

"He's not dangerous to me," Leonard snarled. He knew Chris was unpredictable, but that was one thing he was absolutely sure of.

"Yeah, he is. Just not physically." Jim leaned forward, smugness replaced with seriousness that was usually reserved for Klingons and drinking games.

"What will you do if he wakes up and doesn't remember the past few days? Or if he does, but the other memories mean he doesn't feel the same way he did before he got the treatment?"

McCoy shrugged, turned and looked at the unconscious man on the bed. His heart ached, but he refused to give in to it. There was only one choice, the easiest thing for Chris. The best thing for Chris. And the hardest thing Leonard would ever have to do.

"I'll pretend it never happened."

#

Sound came back first. The faint hisses and beeps. Soft murmurs that didn't quite resolve into clear words. Clean, sterile scents surrounded him.  

Eventually, he lifted his heavy eyelids, despite the urge sink back beneath the weight of unconsciousness. White and steel. Sunlight poured in through the window, sparkling on every surface.

A hospital room. His head felt heavy, his brain sluggish, his body slow to respond. But nothing hurt. There was no sharp pain or throbbing aches and he decided to take that as a win.

He let his eyes slide back shut, let himself drift in fogginess enveloping him.

Eventually, the door opened and he tensed for a moment, but something, a scent or a sound had him relaxing again without ever opening his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"Starfleet Medical." A gruff voice answered and he smiled at the sound. "Do you know who you are?"

He frowned. But then a name swam up from the depths of his sluggish thoughts.

"Pike. Christopher Pike."

"Where were you born?"

"Mojave."

"Do you know who James Kirk is?"

"Of course. He's a giant pain in my ass who I would have left in Iowa, if I'd known how much trouble he caused me. What's with all the questions?"

But as soon as he asked, the answer came to him. He remembered days of confusion and darkness wrapping his past. He remembered all the things he'd done, all the anger and violence he'd carried trying to get answers. And he remembered the man who had helped him through it.

His eyes flew open when memories returned in an avalanche. "Christ, McCoy. I kissed you."

The relieved smile that had been lifting the doctor's face disappeared and Leonard's entire body straightened, shifting a barely perceptible centimeter that felt like an impenetrable gulf.

"You weren't yourself." McCoy's voice was matter of fact, giving nothing away and Chris knew he had to tread carefully. But he needed to know.

"You were. You kissed me back."

The shock widened Leonard's eyes and he took a step back away from the bed, before pulling professional disinterest around him like a cloak.

"Perhaps I should get you another doctor." McCoy turned and took another step away.

"No. Wait. Don't." Chris knew if Leonard left, he'd never get a chance to make it right. "Give me a minute. I have two Chris Pikes my head and I'm trying to make them line up."

McCoy stopped moving but he didn't speak. Just crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his chin up and scowled impatiently.

But Chris understood McCoy after the past few weeks of living together. He knew the dark, distant pose covered up a whole host of emotions he was afraid of other people seeing. Underneath the impatience was a generous vulnerable man who'd been hurt and was doing everything he could to protect himself.

Pushing up into a sitting position, Chris couldn't help smiling when McCoy instantly moved to his side to help him.

Leonard was still close, leaning in, hand hovering, ready to help if needed. Chris turned his head to look him in the eye, and tried to show everything he was feeling, everything he couldn't put into words. He watched Leonard lick his lips, followed the pink tongue hungrily and leaned even closer.

"Maybe if you let me kiss you again, it will work itself out," he murmured. He slipped his hand around Leonard's neck and shifted forward, brushed their lips together and watched McCoy's eyes slide shut. Relief lasted a heartbeat before lust took over and the kiss turned from sweet to burning.

#

Leonard had no idea how he ended up half on the bed, braced against mattress and pinned against Chris. And he didn't care. He was lost in the scorching feel of Chris, the gentle, demanding way his mouth moved under Leonard's, the strong hands  stroking his neck and tangling in his hair.

The quiet thumps took several seconds to register as someone walking into the room. Two someones.

The room where he was making out with a patient still recovering from an experimental treatment. A patient who might still be under threat from Section 31.

Leonard tore himself away and turned to face the intruder, ready to protect Chris with his bare hands, if necessary. 

But it wasn't necessary. Though the smirk gracing Jim's face and the cocky, smug way he leaned against the door made Leonard consider throttling him anyway. Spock stood next to him, hands tucked behind his back and face blank with attempted disinterest. The slight raise of his eyebrow, however, struck Leonard as highly judgmental.

"Nice to see you two picking up where you left off," Jim laughed at his own joke and stepped forward to pat Leonard's shoulder. "But couldn't you have waited until you two were somewhere a little more private? Especially since Pike still looks like jailbait compared to you, Bones."

Leonard opened his mouth to snarl something nasty but Chris beat him to it.

"This from the cadet I had to bail out of jail because he tried to have a ménage with Gaila and Gary Mitchell in the men's room of the art museum."

Spock's second eyebrow went up, but Jim waved it away.

"I tried to explain to the guard that it was an attempt at performance art, but some people just don't understand creative expression," he said it seriously, before the chuckle gave him away. He stepped closer to the biobed and grinned down at Chris with delighted. "So you remember everything?"

"Everything. Including enough insubordination to get you demoted again." He shifted his attention from Jim to Spock. "If you get him out here in the next ten seconds, I'll give you the Enterprise."

The Vulcan's lips twitched before settling back into a straight line. "Interesting proposal. However, I do not believe you can guarantee that. And I'd have to live with the temper tantrums after, either way. I do not feel it is a good exchange."

Chris groaned and dropped back onto to the bed, reaching up to tangle his fingers with Leonard's.

Enjoying the surge of warmth that slipped through him at the simple contact, Leonard reached into lab coat pocket and pulled out a hypospray.

"I believe you're a few days overdue for your vitamin booster, Jim. Just hold still and it will only sting for a few minutes."

Kirk danced away and laughed, bumping into Spock as he avoided Leonard.

"Okay, okay. I can tell when I'm not wanted. C'mon Spock. Let's go someplace where my company is appreciated."

"Where would that be, Captain?" Spock asked, voice deadpan when he followed Jim out the door.

The room fell silent after they were gone, only the monitoring equipment giving a faint background hum.

"I don't suppose the hospital was the best place for a second kiss, huh?" Chris asked.

"No, probably not," Leonard agreed.

"So, how long before I can go home?"

"You'll need a few days of observation to be sure there aren't any unexpected side effects. A week at most." Leonard frowned, remembering something mentioned in passing while he sat his bedside vigil. "Except, I believe  your apartment has already been re-leased. We'll need to find you someplace to go to finish recuperating when you're ready to leave the hospital."

Chris shifted, tugging on their joined hands. Leonard wasn't sure if Chris had forgotten about his increased strength or if he'd done it on purpose. Either way, Leonard once again found himself half-sprawled across Chris's body.

"Is the second kiss too early to think about moving in together?" Chris asked, brushing his lips along the shell of Leonard's ear and sending a spike of heat straight through him.

He thought about everything they'd gone through together in such a short time. He knew he should be wary, but he knew Christopher Pike. Both the admiral and the man he'd been under the most adverse conditions. He liked and trusted both of them.

"No. I think it's just about right," he murmured, sliding in to kiss Chris and hoping the nurse's rotation wouldn't bring them into the room for a few more minutes.

 

 


End file.
